Where I End And You Begin
by Miss Kristin of the Shire
Summary: After Sam experiences one of the most painful losses of his life, he is beckoned by the call of the sea...
1. The Passage of Time

Chapter 1: The Passage of Time  
  
It was another day in the Shire, the year was 1482. It was that time of year when the summer transitions into golden autumn, and the world seems a bit sleepier, and more dream-like, as the world undergoes a change; a maturing, and wizening.  
  
So it was for Samwise Gamgee and his beloved wife, Rose. Sam himself had reached the ripe old age of 104, and in all that time, he could scarcely recall a single day of his life that went by without event. There was of course, unforgettably, his epic quest to aid Frodo Baggins in destroying the One Ring in the fires of Mount Doom, which is much more than most hobbits could say. But afterwards, he wasted no time in starting a family, and went on to have an unprecedented thirteen children -- and that kept him just as busy as he could possibly wish, as you could imagine. As if this weren't enough, Samwise Gamgee was elected Mayor of the Shire for seven terms straight, until at last, he felt a long-needed reprieve was much in order. From there on, he took to a quiet, and considerably less eventful, life, with his dear Rosie, watching from afar as all of his children, one by one, slowly blossomed into adulthood. Never did he take so much pride in anything else that he had ever done than he did with his children. Not even the gardens tended to perfection by his own, skillful hands, though they were a close second, and were much accredited to his well-deserved fame.  
  
But things were not the same as they once were, and time had not always treated Sam all too kindly. The sting of old wounds would come back to haunt him, all too regularly he thought, surfacing in a wave of intensity and crashing down upon him with enormous force. Of all the pains he had endured, no pain had ever struck his heart so near as when his master took his leave upon the expanse of the wide, gray sea. Time had taken its toll on him physically, as well as emotionally, as with the passing years, his joints grew more achy, and less nimble, his face had become more lined and care-worn, and his once golden-brown locks were now a thinning silver-grey. But, all in all, he was well content with all he had, and in his old age only really wanted a quiet night now and again with his wife, and a few good square meals a day, as is the average hobbit's wont.  
  
This was one such of those quiet nights at home. Rose worked busily at the stove, bustling about, as various pots and pans simmered on the stove-top. Sam was at work building a warm little fire, crackling merrily in the hearth. And the table was set , adorned with a white satin tablecloth, some flickering candles set in their long stems of pink wax, and a few hand-picked flowers from Sam's garden in an ivory vase. And they sat down to their meal, speaking animatedly of this and that, be it a run-in at the market with an old friend, or reminiscing about the earliest days of their friendship, and marriage, and their children when they were still in that inquisitive stage before their teens.  
  
Rose shook her head during one of these very conversations, saying,  
  
"I can hardly believe how quickly the time goes. Why it seems only yesterday when I saw you return from all that adventuring, looking so brave and strong in your shining mail. Almost like something out of those stories you're so fond of."  
  
Sam blushed slightly and responded, "Well, I don't know if I'd go as far as saying that. Can't ever recall as any of the people in those stories went about riding on ponies."  
  
Rose laughed affectionately, and sighed, saying at last,  
  
"Oh, how I long for the old days, sometimes, my dear Sam. O, to be young and beautiful again!"  
  
"My foot! You're as beautiful as the day I first laid eyes on you. And I mean that." he said solemnly, the utmost sincerity in his voice, as he took his wife by the hand, staring deeply into her emerald eyes.  
  
"Now, Sam," she admonished him, smiling, wagging a finger playfully at him, "Don't tease, you know just as well as I do, I'm naught but an old maid nowadays."  
  
"Nonsense, m'dear! It' s like my old Gaffer used to say: 'A lady of true class ages like wine, she always grows better with time. The trick is not drinkin' 'er down all in one sitting!'".  
  
"Well then, this old glass of wine better be getting to bed herself, and get some beauty rest before it's all drunken away," she said laughingly.  
  
"You're right again, Rosie. I think it's high time this old hobbit's gone and got a little well-earned shut-eye himself."  
  
And with that, the two settled down into the comfort of their inviting feather-bed. Sam wrapped his beloved wife up in his arms, and murmured softly in her ear,  
  
"Oh, Rosie… What would I do without you?" 


	2. The Departure of Mistress Rose

Chapter 2: The Departure of Mistress Rose  
  
Sam woke the next morning, not to the singing of birds, nor to a soft breeze spilling from the open window, but to a feeling of sinking dread, and a terrible chill that ran the length of his spine.  
  
"Must've been having a nightmare…" he muttered to himself, but somehow, unconvinced. He slowly raised himself from the bed, drew back the curtains a bit, but was met only by an ominous grey sky staring back gloomily at him. Something didn't seem right.  
  
"Don't be a fool, Sam Gamgee. Getting all worked up about a bunch of storm clouds. You've seen worse things than cloudy skies in your day."  
  
He tiptoed out of the room, rummaged around in the cupboards, and prepared a rather humble breakfast for Rose and himself. But somehow, he didn't have any appetite for food at the moment.  
  
"What's gotten into you?" he thought to himself, reproachfully. "Since when have you ever woken up without a mind for something to eat. Something's funny here, and I don't like it very much."  
  
He walked back into the bedroom to wake his wife. "Rosie, dear, I've made a bit of breakfast. Come and get it while it's still hot." No response.  
"Come on, Rose, up you get!" he said more insistently.  
Silence.  
"Rosie, wake up, dear. Rosie? Rose? What's the matter? Wake up!" he persisted. He went to shake her from her sleep, but quickly withdrew his hand, aghast. She was chilled to the bone. Cold as… "No…" Sam fell to his knees, staring helplessly at his wife's face.  
"No, Rose, please, wake up… Please, no… Rosie… don't leave me here, not now. Rose…" but in his heart he knew that it was too late.  
He bowed his head, grief weighing down on him like a horrible burden. Grief so tangible, so maliciously real, the weight of it made him stoop so that he was bent over double, thick tear droplets cascading down his face and falling dully to the floor, all commingling into a tiny pool of anguish.  
  
And he knelt there, wholly immersed in sorrow, clasping his wife's cold lifeless hand. 


	3. The Final Choices of Master Samwise

Chapter 3: The Final Choices of Master Samwise  
  
Rose was buried under the magnificent golden mallorn, the tree grown from Sam's own loving hands, for Sam would not have had it any other way, and all around her mound he had planted flowers of pure white and pale pink. Not even in the days of his youth had he worked so painstakingly to tend a garden, never with such bittersweet labor. And even in years long after, Rose's flowers remained ever beautiful, with Sam's blessing, and the tears he shed upon the ground from which the seeds were sown.  
  
Sam and his children had all gathered around her grave the day of her funeral in a massive huddle, clinging to each other tightly, all looking to one another for some kind of solace, but it seemed no words could alleviate the terrible pain of their loss.  
  
Elanor, in particular, was deeply concerned for her father's sake. For she knew the impact on his heart was most devastating.  
  
"Dad, I could stay with you here awhile, if you like. Fastred and I, we could…" "No." Sam interrupted, shaking his head decidedly. "No Ellie, I wouldn't want to become a burden on you, my dear. I'll have to work things out on my own, somehow. I don't want to be no trouble to you . It won't make you feel any better having to stay here. Don't worry about me." Elanor bit her lip, putting on her best attempt to stay strong.  
"You could never be a burden on me, daddy. Never. I'm worried about you. Dad, if anything happened to you… I'd never forgive myself. Not if I could've done something to prevent it. Please, dad, I want to help you. I'll help you get through this. How can you do it alone?" And her lower lip trembled as she looked into her father's eyes, and she buried her face into his shoulder, sobbing softly.  
"Ellie.. Oh, Ellie, don't cry on account of me. I'm old, darling, and I've lived my life. I've not much longer for this world, my dear, it can't be helped. But you, you've got your whole life ahead of you, you don't need to be fretting yourself for the likes of me. There's still so much for you to enjoy, and to be, and to do." And these last words bore a ringing familiarity in his heart. He knew that he had heard them before.  
  
That night, Sam tossed and turned uselessly in his bed. It seemed to him that everything was just a painful reminder of his dearly departed Rose. Her scent still lingering in the empty blankets were a torment him, and the way the moonlight glared off of her vanity in the corner, casting eerie silhouettes all about the room. The rays of the sun could not brighten a room like his Rosie could, no flower he had ever grown could compare to her delicate beauty, no meal was ever satisfying when not made by her own meticulous hands. Nothing could ever be the same as long as Sam was alone. At last, he sat himself upright, though unable to let his eyes wander over to the now-vacant spot of their bed where his dear Rose used to lay. His throat constricted as all of the terrible events of the last few days came surging through his thought, plaguing his mind, and haunting his dreams. Consuming him, devouring away mercilessly, greedily, at his happiness, his very existence.  
  
And suddenly, words spoken by his master so long ago came flooding back to his memory  
  
"I am wounded, wounded; it will never really heal."  
  
Sam had believed, up until now, that he had understood the magnitude of these words. But their true meaning had finally taken form -- and although the cause of the pain was vastly different, the resulting effect was just as viciously powerful. He knew at last what it was to have a hurt run so deep, strike so very hard, that the body could not physically withstand it. His heart was broken, his spirit faltering. A pain that would never go away for as long as he went on living.  
  
His mind was terribly conflicted. He loved his children so very much; more than anything else in the world. But he knew that before long, and he suspected not very long at all, he would soon be leaving them whether he chose to or no. Then he thought of his wife, and wondered if he could live with himself by leaving her behind, leaving without laying to rest beside her for the rest of eternity.  
  
"What am I to do? Oh, Rosie, if only I could speak with you.. Just one last time, that's all I need. I need help. My heart is broken. I'll die of heartache if I stay… but how can I leave? O, Elbereth help me! Where do I belong? Help me get where I belong."  
  
And he plopped himself back down on his bed, burying his eyes in his hands, feeling very frightened, and uncertain, and more alone than he could ever remember feeling.  
  
The following day, Sam visited her grave, and he knelt at her mound, tears flowing freely.  
  
"Oh Rose… My dear, sweet Rosie…" and he paused, and made a valiant attempt to maintain his composure, wiping vainly at the tears spilling down his face.  
  
" How I miss you… I miss you so very much.. So much… I can't begin to describe it." He bowed his head, trying to find the right words, some source of inspiration that would give him strength, make him feel more self-assured that his intent could possibly be justified.  
  
"I'm afraid I'm in a terrible fix, Rose… You know that our family means more to me than anything. So I think you'll understand what I'm trying to say… I so hope you do. Now with the kids all grown up and all, they've moved on with their own lives, and now it's time I moved on.. I couldn't stand to be alone for long, waiting to just fade away… it'd be the death of me, I know it would… I need to find another place. A place where I can rest. Somewhere where I can be healed. I can't bear to spend my last days sad and miserable. It's not how it was meant to be. So please, my dear, I hope you understand… Do you understand? Oh, Rose…" and at last Sam broke down.  
  
But then, as if in answer, the golden boughs of the magnificent mallorn swayed slightly, and the breeze carried an aura of reassurance and comfort upon it, and Sam's pained sobs were silenced. Something in the air had seem to have spoken to him, like a delicate whisper carrying upon it a message that only his ears could hear. He knelt there still, for a few more moments, in a deeply contemplative state. Then he raised his head, and lifted his eyes so that his eyes met the golden tree.  
  
"All right then, my dear. It's settled. Tonight I go to the Grey Havens." 


	4. Last Farewells

Chapter 4: Last Farewells  
  
Sam walked purposefully back to Bag End, a glint of determination in his eyes; determination to adhere to his resolve.  
"My mind's made up." he thought to himself. "There's only one place for me now."  
  
As he made his way through Hobbiton, some of the hobbit passer-bys gave Sam sad, understanding looks, a few stopped and asked him "How are you, Mr. Gamgee?" to which Sam simply nodded his head abruptly, still looking straight ahead, not stopping to meet their gaze.  
  
No sooner than he had walked through the green round door of his home, he hurriedly packed all his most precious belongings that he could not bear to part with. Last of all, he tucked the Red Book deep into his coat pocket, then stepped outside once more.  
  
"Hullo! You there, young lad, I'd like a word with you, if you will." "Yes, Mr. Gamgee, sir?" "Be a good lad, and send for my children, right away. They shouldn't-a wandered off too far. They'll be about somewhere near at hand." "All right, sir, I'll do what I can."  
  
And Sam eased himself into the deep plush cushions of his armchair, eyes fixated on the dying embers of the smoldering fire, and waited expectantly.  
  
It might have been ten minutes or ten days later, for all Sam knew, when at last, he was snapped out of his reverie by the sound of the front doorbell.  
  
"Huh.. Who's there?" he called, as if in a daze.  
  
"Dad, it's us!" came the voice of his youngest son, Tom. "Didn't you call for us?" "Good heavens, I'd nearly forgotten!" Sam said to himself, as he hurried to the front door. Lo and behold, all thirteen of his children were clustered about the doorstep.  
  
"My children…" he murmured, and tears welled up in his eyes.  
  
"Daddy, what's wrong? Are you all right?" Elanor cried, hurrying forward.  
  
"Nothing, dear. I just needed to see you. All of you. There's something important that needs saying, and the longer I wait, the harder it'll be to finally say it.  
  
"Dad, are you…." Robin started.  
  
"Now now, let's not have none of that. I'm fine… well, not fine, but there's something that needs mending."  
  
"What is it, dad?" Bilbo started. "What can we do to help?"  
  
"No, Bilbo-lad, I'm afraid that there's nothing for it now but for me to help myself. Which is why I brought you all here. Come and sit with me."  
  
Sam's children all settled uneasily into the nearest seat, and waited with bated breath for their father to speak.  
  
At last, he said:  
  
"Children, I realized something just last night, when I was awake in bed. You remember in the Story how old Frodo, after all he had suffered, had to leave, go away. It was because of something he once told me. And now I understand. I'm wounded, my children. The kind of wound that never really goes away. Just like Frodo was. And you see, my dears, there's naught else to help it but… to go away. I'm leaving, kids. I'm leaving for the Grey Havens." and he said no more, and could not look into the eyes of any of his children. And all the room was filled with a stark silence, broken only by a small whimper, coming from his daughter Primrose.  
  
"Now, listen. I want you all to know that you mean the world to me. All of you. I don't want to leave you behind this way." And here his voice cracked. "But I have to. I have to, and there's no other way."  
  
And then and there, they all rose to their feet, as one, and went to their father's side, holding him, and crying with him, and kissing his tear-streaked face. They were all held together in mutual sorrow, and pity, and most of all profound love for one another: for theirs was a bond that could never truly be broken. But when the weeping subsided, and the shock of this news became a bit less severe, they spoke once more.  
  
"Isn't there nothing we could do?" Hamfast implored. "Nothing we could do to help?"  
  
"No, my boy. This is how it has to be. But you're all grown, and you can all look out for yourselves now. You've all started your own lives; you'll get along just fine. Now then, I've already got all my things packed. It's not much. But I ride out tonight. And I'd like for all of you to see my off. Not too far. Not as far as the Havens." and they all knew it wasn't an invitation, it was an order, and certainly none among them would begrudge him this last wish.  
  
And so, just as the sun began to settled down behind the Blue Mountains, and dusk began to settle quietly all about the world, they were off, all huddled in a horse-drawn carriage, and they passed stealthily through the Shire, so as not to draw too much attention to themselves. At last, they came to the last borders of Hobbiton, and now the setting sun had tinted the sky all in a beautiful rosy haze. But they all knew that the bitter parting had finally come, and they were deeply mournful at heart, and they paid no heed to the world around them. Sam had gathered himself up, was helped down off the carriage, and he took one of the horses and made ready to ride. He went to his each of his children, holding them long in his embrace. He said such fatherly little nothings as,  
  
"Pippin-lad, you stay out of mischief, now." "Goldilocks, you be good to young Faramir." and "Rose, did I ever tell you how much you look like your mother?" And he kissed each of them in farewell: Elanor Frodo, Rose, Merry, Pippin, Goldilocks, Hamfast, Daisy, Primrose, Bilbo, Ruby, Robin, and Tom.  
  
Before leaving, he went to his son, Frodo, last of all, and spoke to him privately.  
  
"Frodo-lad, now you're all grown and as stout and clever, and good as a hobbit could wish. I leave Bag End to you, to do with it what you will. But please, my lad, promise me this much: that at least you'll see to it that the gardens are taken care of. So that come the springtime, I can count on the flowers bein' in full bloom, and in the height of their splendor, just the way I remembered them."  
  
"Yes, dad. Of course I will. I promise I'll do all I can to keep them just as beautiful as they were when you tended to them. 'Course, it'll never be the same. Not with you gone…" and he cast his eyes to the ground, ashamedly, trying to conceal the hurt in his eyes as he spoke to his father for the last time. Sam cupped his son's chin in his hands, and lifted his head gently to meet his gaze. Frodo's eyes were shining with tears, and his face screwed up in an expression of utter sadness.  
  
"Frodo, my lad. It's all right." Sam murmured, pulling him into his arms. And his son wept openly into his shoulder. "That's all right my lad. There's no shame in it. But I need to know that you'll be strong for me, when I'm gone, and mind your brothers and sisters. You'll all be needing each other. If there's one thing that I learned in all my years of living, it's that family is all you've really got, and you got to appreciate that while you still have it. Now you take care of them for me, Frodo-lad." and he kissed his son's forehead.  
  
But Elanor was loath to leave her father now, and said to him,  
  
"I'm going with you. No matter how far, no matter how long the journey, I'm going with you." and Sam was both moved and secretly glad that the gesture had been made, and she was not gainsaid.  
  
And so, Elanor rode out with her father, for she in her heart knew she couldn't bare to be apart from him in his final hours on the earth. Just as Sam had done with Frodo more than sixty years ago.  
  
They rode on, past the White Downs, and then the Far Downs, and the Tower Hills. And already the Sea had come into view, it's endless tide resounding in their heads, and moving Sam to silent tears, for this was a sound that he had carried in his heart for so long. And with it was tied so many memories, so much emotion, that he simply could not suppress himself. But he concealed this, as best as he could, for Elanor's sake.  
  
At last, they came to Mithlond, just as deep night began to set it, and the first stars had already appeared in the velvety sky. At last they came to the narrow inlet of the Sea, where the great white ship was awaiting him.  
And when Sam beheld the ship, bobbing gently in the water beside the quay, the very one he had seen so long ago, but always remembered so poignantly in his heart, tears stung his eyes.  
  
Cirdan the Shipwright was there, and if possible, Sam though he looked even older than he had remembered, but his eyes were just as brilliant as ever. He gave Sam a knowing glance, and led him through to the Havens. Before boarding the ship, he turned slowly to face his daughter, and clasped her hands in his. He looked long upon her face, his own set in a deeply pensive expression, brows deeply furrowed, his mouth drawn in a tight line. He sensed that the very same feelings were coursing through her mind that he too had experienced. He understood exactly the way she was feeling.  
  
He put his own emotions aside, knowing that they would only make the parting all the more grievous for his daughter, and spoke to her in a soft, unwavering voice.  
  
"Elanor, my flower, fairer than any other in the land. Please, do not be sad. For I go to a place where I can find peace. And I shall go on, and you will go on, and you will live your life. And you can rest easy knowing your old dad has found his place, and he'll be well taken care of. Don't you worry yourself for my sake. You were meant to live in happiness. And I'm not going to get in the way of that. I could never a borne it…. Before I leave, I want you to take this." and he rummaged in his pocket and pulled out the Red Book. "Keep it. To remember me by. And to see to it that our Story is not forgotten. Remember, my sweet, that even though you won't be finding me in the Shire, you can find me in the gardens all in blossom in the spring, in the sunlight that kisses your forehead, and the breeze that refreshes you on a summer's day, if you understand me. There's a little bit of me in everything you do, everywhere you go. Even if you can't see me, you can always find me here.." and he folded her hand to her heart. "Where it counts."  
  
At last, he went on board the ship, but was so reeling in his emotion, he barely even took heed of the gathering of Elves that would accompany him.  
  
Elanor stared after him, tears streaming silently down her face, but amidst them, she managed a small smile. Everything was for the best, after all. She held the Red Book against her tightly, as she watched the ship bearing her father slowly disappear into obscurity. Then she mounted the horse and rode away, never looking back.  
  
Sam stepped into the magnificently crafted boat of pure white, but was far too weary -- both physically and emotionally -- to truly appreciate them at the moment. He peered out into the vast ebbing water, lapping up gently against the boat rhythmically, and stared out in silence at all he was leaving behind.  
  
He felt his eyes mist over as the shores of Middle-earth slowly receded into the distance, and at last, were altogether lost from his sight, vanishing into nothingness.  
  
"Good-bye Shire. Good-bye Middle-earth. Good-bye my children… Know I'll always love you with all my heart. Good-bye Rose, my dear sweet Rose. Till our paths meet again. Good-bye…" 


	5. Journey Across the Sea

Chapter 5: Journey Across the Sea  
  
(a/n: It's not over yet folks! And btw, thank you to my reviewers for all the lovely feedback. Hope you're enjoying reading it just as much as I enjoy writing it!)  
  
Any of Sam's former apprehension of boats had vanished as soon as he had set sail for Valinor. Never in all of his life had he taken a journey so splendid, so invigorating, and certainly none so remedial as this final journey he had embarked on.  
  
The sound of voices singing, voices so beautiful it filled all his soul with a warmth and richness, and a strikingly uplifting sense of contentment…completeness ….It seemed that the words flowed through his very veins, it made the hair on the nape of his neck stand on end, and blanketed him in a feeling of everlasting serenity. He stared out straight ahead of him, under the cover of the night sky, arms resting lazily over the side of the ship, and there was a penetrating look in his eyes, though he saw nothing in front of him.  
  
One of the Elves caught sight of him, and smiled to himself, and addressed him with kind words.  
  
"Master Gamgee, sir? I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you, but I expect you must be feeling quite tired, and your bed is waiting for you."  
  
Sam looked up at him, still immersed in the moment, and the clear voices singing above the din of the sea.  
  
"Thank you, sir, I think I'll do just that. Lead the way, if you will." and he bowed respectfully, not having lost his sense of propriety, even in this entranced state. No sooner had he laid himself down in his bed was Sam cast into a peaceful, untroubled sleep.  
  
The next day, Sam woke greatly refreshed; indeed he walked with a certain buoyancy in his step, and he whistled merrily as he went. Strength and vigor returned to each limb, in such a way as was beyond his reckoning. He hadn't a care in the world that could break this jovial mood he was in. He almost marveled at how resilient his heart had become overnight, all things considered.  
  
"They don't call them the Undying Lands for nothing, do they?" he said to himself, shaking his head, wistfully.  
"Why, I feel as if I'm in the prime of my youth, in a manner of speaking."  
  
As he mad his away across the deck, to watch the panoramic beauty of the Sea, he caught sight of the Elf who had escorted him to his bedroom the night before, and said,  
  
"Begging your pardon, sir? I just wanted to thank you for treatin' me so kindly yesterday, but I realized that I never learned your name, and yet somehow you knew mine. And, well, I was just a bit curious, is all, and I thought I might ask, if I may make so bold."  
  
"Certainly, Master Samwise. My name is Nephrodel. I was asked by Cirdan to keep an eye out for you, in especial. And I knew why when he told me your name. For you see, although Men may forget their history within the span of a few years, my people have not soon forgotten your name, nor the deeds of unsurpassable valor you have done for the sake of Middle-earth."  
  
Sam's face turned to a deep crimson, and he was quite at a loss for words after receiving such praise, and this coming from what he thought to be one of the most praise-worthy beings that walked the earth.  
  
"But come!" Nephrodel continued, conscious of Sam's humble temperament. "The sun is newly risen, and there is a certain change in the air. You feel it, too, don't you? Perhaps the Sea holds the answer to what you wonder…" and he left Sam with that cryptic message, and excused himself politely, leaving Sam in a puzzled curious state. He had wondered indeed, at the change that had overcome him. He mulled the Elf's words over, and went to the ship's edge.  
  
He peered out cautiously over the side of the ship, peering into the crystalline water below, still deep in thought, and nearly staggered backwards in utter shock. Staring up back at him was a Sam years younger than the one he had woken up to each morning for many, many years. His hair was restored to it's former healthy golden-brown, he looked his hands over, now free of wrinkles and age spots, then slowly reached up to his face, and was awe-stricken by the feel of his smooth, pristine skin.  
Only the wisdom of his years was retained in his deep brown eyes.  
  
His body and soul were revitalized; the healing process had begun.  
  
For the remainder of his voyage, he anticipated his coming to Valinor. He realized that he hadn't quite prepared himself for it, hadn't readied his heart for what was in store. He had temporarily forgotten that after storm-clouds pass, no matter how destructive the storm may be, there is always sunshine. After all his suffering, there would be a light at the end of the tunnel, and ff the departure had been bitter, he knew at least the arrival would be blessed.  
  
He busied himself with his memories: memories of Frodo. Memories that for so long he tried to contain within himself as best he could, so as not let his emotions get the better of him, he now embraced freely, letting them flood back into his head full-force. He almost coerced himself into remembering every detail: the way he would look upon his master's sleeping face before waking him each morning in Bag End, how he had been beside himself with worry (and beside his master's bed as well) waiting for Frodo to recuperate after the terrifying attack on Weathertop. He remembered grasping onto his master's hand for dear life as he rescued him from the waters of The Anduin, the very river he had doused himself in, out of self-sacrifice. He even allowed himself to think of Mordor, their most desperate, hopeless, and blackest of hours. How he willingly gave Frodo more than his share of food and water, refusing to yield to his own parched mouth and empty stomach. He thought about cradling his dear master in his arms when finding him in the loathsome Tower of Cirith Ungol. The mere thought of Shelob make his stomach turn with a sudden dread, even after all of these years after the fact. He could never erase the terrible image of Frodo's deadly-pale face, eyes blank and distant, not the faintest vestige of life remaining in his still body, from his mind, no matter how hard he tried.  
  
He remembered last of all, and most vividly, how he had watched the very ship he was standing on bear his master away from him, for what he thought would be forever. He remembered feeling that with that ship that had carried away Frodo, a piece of him had been carried away irretrievably; leaving him with an empty void he could never really fill. With Frodo's passing, Sam had almost convinced himself that Frodo had truly passed away, to a place that was far beyond his reach, that his departure was fixed, and their ties of friendship and love had forever been severed. Then a dark, dismal notion came into Sam's meandering thoughts.  
  
"What if he really is gone? Gone for good? Surely, people can't go on living forever, no matter what land they live in, undying or no. And who'd really want to anyway? Maybe he couldn't wait no longer for me. And I'm getting my hopes up like this for nothing. Maybe I made a mistake in coming here, after all." But he pushed these thoughts aside, as best as he could.  
  
"Now it's no good thinking like that, Sam Gamgee. Here you were, feeling on top of the world not more'n a few moments ago. And all you can think of now is the worst. He'll be there, he just has to. He wouldn't-a left without his Sam. Not without seeing his Sam one last time. Not the Mr. Frodo I knew. Yes, I reckon he'll have held on. I got to believe that. I wouldn't stand for it any other way." he thought determinedly, but no matter how many times he tried to convince himself, he still couldn't completely be rid of the gnawing doubt in the back of his mind that slowly ate away at his optimism.  
  
That night, as he was lulled by the sounds of the Sea, being rocked gently by the waves, Sam found himself drifting away in his bed, imminent sleep creeping over him. The lovely satin blankets caressed his skin, and his head sunk into the feather-pillow as soft and airy as a cloud. He closed his eyes dreamily… And a strange sensation crept over him, and he reopened them.  
  
There was Rose, standing there right by the foot of his bed, dressed all in a delicate gown of flowing white, Her hair was arranged around her face in an array of golden locks.. and there were flowers in her hair, and she was smiling… Her dainty feet seemed to barely even touch the mortal ground, rather they floated gracefully, and she glided whenever she moved. Her radiance was so perceptible---, she seemed to emanate a shining white glow, like a glimmering lantern in the night -- like the light of Earendil in it's glittering star-glass. Sam stared in awe, taking in every last bit of her…He could scarcely remember a time where she had looked so beautiful.. So beautiful she seemed ethereal, transcending anything he had seen in all of Middle-earth.  
  
"Sam, my sweet Sam." her voice echoed into his ears. She lifted her outstretched lily-white fingers towards him, and stroked the side of his cheek. At her touch, Sam felt an inexplicably wonderful sensation well up inside of him, and he began to cry.  
  
"Rosie.. Oh, my Rose, you're here, you're really here.. Here with me again. But how? "  
  
"Sam, I've always been with you. And I always will be with you. Right here." she said, placing a hand over his chest. "Where it counts."  
  
"Oh Rosie… why didn't I see it before.."  
  
"It's all right, Sam. No more tears."  
  
"Rosie… you don't, you don't hold me at fault? For leaving, do you? I could-a sworn I heard you speak to me when… when I was trying to tell you. Rose?" but she merely smiled at him, and it was all the answer he needed. Before he could speak with her any further, the next things he knew, she had vanished without a trace. 


	6. The Arrival

Chapter 6: The Arrival  
  
"Master Gamgee?" a voice called, followed by a knocking on the door. Nephrodel poked his head inside. "We are arriving, sir.. We shall be reaching the shores of Valinor any moment now." Sam stretched languidly and rubbed his bleary eyes.  
  
But the impact of these words suddenly hit him, and he sat bolt upright, then disentangled himself as quickly from the unmade sheets as he could, in a frantic state.  
  
"Almost there! Already? Why, I'm not even dressed proper! I don't know if I'm ready for this, not yet. Oh, but there's no time for that. You'll just have to make yourself ready, in a hurry, there's naught else for it. I wonder what I shall find there."  
  
It was not long before the answer to this question was unveiled. He rushed out onto the deck, eager to watch the onset of his new life. And then, there was the sound of singing, the clear voices of the Elves rang out once more, from far across the expanse of the Sea, and a sound more joyous and moving, Sam could not remember. He felt as if he had suddenly passed into another realm entirely, he could pinpoint the very spot where he had crossed over from his world to his new home with his waking eyes, as if there was a visible barrier separating these two worlds. The overcast skies suddenly dissipated, and for a moment, all was enclosed in a shining silver curtain. And a wonderful fragrance was in the air, and the sun rose on high illuminating Valinor in all its splendor  
  
There they were; the white shores stretching as far as the eye could see, gleaming like immaculate porcelain under the sunrise. And beyond that, the vast, lush country, bursting with verdant foliage, extending far beyond the sight of mortal eyes, rolling on endlessly. The sun reflected brilliantly off the water, catching its many facets and radiating off like dazzling sapphire. All untainted, breath-taking, flawless. A true paradise.  
  
"I'm home…" Sam breathed amazedly.  
  
He didn't dare tear his eyes away from the ever-approaching land, inching closer and closer. He watched as the harbor came into view, there assembled a handful of onlookers, all Elves seemingly, awaiting for their loved ones' arrival. In his mind, Sam had pictured Frodo standing there solely, upon the dock he would disembark on, awaiting him with open arms, ready to invite him back into his life. And the fact that this notion hadn't come to fruition put a bit of a damper on his spirits, but they were certainly not dashed.  
  
But Sam could not discern any faces, only vague forms, outlines of altogether unfamiliar people, and his hope began to slip. He scanned the crowd desperately, searching for the one thing that had really mattered to him now, for someone smaller in stature. And as they edged closer and closer, there was still no sign of what he was looking for. But he hadn't given up yet. Not entirely. It was too soon to ascertain anything. Wasn't it?  
  
Within a few more moments, the boat was a stone's throw away from the pier. No sign of Frodo.  
  
He was crestfallen. His heart sank into the bottommost pit in his stomach.  
  
"So, that's it." he thought to himself. "I'm too late… Either that, or he's forgotten about me." and he quickly wiped a tear away with his sleeve.  
  
But as the Elves began to file out of the ship, something caught his eye. He saw a small figure, walking along the beach, hands buried deeply in his trouser pockets, looking down at his feet as they stepped lightly across the pearly grains of sand. And he looked up suddenly, directly into Sam's face.  
  
And in that moment, which might've been an eternity for all he could tell, time stood still. 


	7. Together At Last

Chapter 7: Together At Last  
  
"Frodo?" Sam cried, stumbling towards him, rendered dazed, and nearly blinded, by his sudden rush of emotion: the disbelief, the sheer bliss, the beautiful sadness.  
  
Frodo closed his eyes, then lifted his head slowly towards the sound. He knew that voice. Sure enough, he saw, bounding towards him, perhaps the dearest, most loved person in his heart.  
  
"Sam…" he whispered.  
  
He tried to make his feet move, but his senses were numbed, he was paralyzed, rooted to the spot by his amazement, his incredulity. Sam trotted up to him, breathlessly, his pace slackening. He stopped short when only a short distance separated them.  
  
"Frodo?" Sam looked into his eyes, searchingly. He stood there, blinking confusedly.  
  
"Oh, Sam." and Frodo quickly pulled him into a tight embrace.  
  
So many thoughts had been going through Frodo's mind as he looked into Sam's eyes for the first time in over sixty years. For so many years, Frodo had waited hopefully at the harbor, scanning the newcomers desperately for his Sam. But every time had just been another disappointment, with each crushing realization that he had still not made the journey. It was breaking his spirit. He would fall into such a disheartened, dejected state, that he could no longer bear another let-down. Another day that left Frodo questioning his uncertain hopes. Time was ticking… Sam was surely getting on in years. What if it was too late? If they would never have the chance to be reunited… But today, something was different. A change in the air, that Frodo was reluctant to acknowledge. He could not bring himself to stand upon that pier, not again. He wandered aimlessly along the beaches of Valinor, casting wary glances at the incoming ship. And, now at last, his long-anticipated dream had been fulfilled.  
  
"Oh, Sam. For so long, I've wondered. Wondered if I would ever see you again. I so hoped you would, I hoped more than anything, and now… You're here again, Sam. My dear Sam. Let's have another look at you." and he stepped back, holding him at arm's length, taking every last detail in, that he so long had stored away in his heart, cherishing secretly. Just as he remembered.  
  
"Mr. Frodo… I can't believe I'm here.. Here with you. Not a day went by where I didn't think of you, not a single day, sir. And sometimes I thought that I really had seen you, when I was lost in a memory, or a dream, but I woke up realizing it wasn't real at all. And now here I am, and I still feel like I'm lost in a dream. Like the most wonderful dream I've ever had, and I'm scared that I'll wake up and find that it's all gone away, and that I'll be back, all alone, and…" but it all was too much for Sam to bear. He broke out into a fit of sobs, vainly stifling them with his shaking hand.  
  
"Oh, Sam…" Frodo breathed, holding him tightly, stroking the back of his head soothingly. "It's all right, Sam. I promise you, you are not lost in a dream. You're right here, with me, the only place you are is lost here in my arms."  
  
And the two lingered there, upon the very shores of Valinor, the sound of the sea filling their ears, and their love long-dormant filling their hearts, immersed in what seemed like an eternal embrace, shedding tears of joy. They each relished in the warmth emanating from each other, the sound of their voices in each other's ears, their hearts beating together as one. At last, Frodo said,  
  
"Oh, Sam. I can't begin to describe how happy I am to see you here, after so long. I was so worried for you, Sam, worried because I knew my leaving would be so hard, so terribly hard on you. But it was not long before I realized how hard it would be on me; waiting and wondering, and anticipating, not ever really knowing. I always hoped, hoped with all my heart, but it brought me some comfort to know that for a long time, you would have all you could possibly want, and do everything that your heart pleased. And so I waited here, patiently, for the day that you would return. But with every passing year, all the more would my heart become laden with doubt. Sam, I never truly realized how very, very much you mean to me. How much I'd risk losing by leaving you behind. You know that, Sam, don't you? Sam, you always knew that I've loved you?" Frodo looked pleadingly into Sam's eyes, his own shining with fresh tears.  
  
"Yes, sir." Sam replied hoarsely. "I always knew."  
  
And the wind sighed all about them, the boughs of trees swaying softly. The sea churned in its perpetual tide, rising to its culmination point, then cascading down, swirling coolly around the hobbits' feet.  
  
"I love you, Sam." Frodo said, voice trembling through tears. And he felt the weight of these words, that he had so long concealed in his thought, lifted off of his shoulders as they finally escaped his lips. The real burden had finally been lifted. He sobbed openly on Sam's shoulder.  
  
"I love you, sir." Sam replied softly. And Sam closed his eyes, caught up in the moment, and kissed his master's forehead.  
  
When at last Frodo had gathered up his emotions and his soft cries silenced, Sam went on.  
  
"I thought I'd never know what it was to be happy again, Mr. Frodo. And now I'm here with you. And there's nowhere else I'd rather be."  
  
"Yes, Sam, you are here, but… Sam, why did you decide to come at last?"  
  
Sam looked down at his feet, and shifted uncomfortably.  
  
"Well…you see… It was Rosie… Rose passed away. And I ain't never felt so scared and so alone in my life. And it was cruel hard leaving my children and all, but I knew that the longer I waited, the sooner I'd finally…" and Sam swallowed at the lump in his throat. Frodo put a comforting hand on his shoulder.  
  
"I understand, Sam. I suspected as much. Let us not speak of it anymore. But remember, Sam, that what happens in the past cannot be undone, but what the future holds in store; that is a road filled with endless possibility. And we will face that future together, you and I, Sam. And you needn't feel alone or scared any longer. I'm here for you, Sam, I always was. Now and forever."  
  
A smile played on Sam's face and he hugged his beloved master once more, and a sweet breeze borne by the Sea ruffled their hair playfully, and wrapped itself all around them, as if to seal their fate. And something in the air told him that Frodo wasn't the only one who would be looking out for him for the rest of his life. 


End file.
